Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  "Or, it might go far to fill in the puzzle pieces for him, providing him answers to nagging questions,” Ashinon countered. “To realize that his destiny lies not in the hands of the Elf-Lord of Mynandrias may release the anger and hatred he has for him. New questions will arise, no doubt. He will search tirelessly for this truth, but he will, I believe, find the answer on his own."

  Nimoni nodded. “So what is required of me in the present?"

  "Come back to them,” Ashinon answered directly. “Let the magic binding you to them signal your revival. Let them see hope in you. Encourage the Krayn to join Sheevos’ fight for survival. The city must ready its defenses for the armies of the destroyers. You must lead them in Tristandor's stead, and let the destiny of Aerinas play out as Fate sees fit."

  Nimoni's face brightened for the first time since Aerinas’ departure. “You knew I would read the book and come here,” she said matter-of-factly to the wizard specter.

  Ashinon remained straight-faced. “I told you: I cannot see all things. I can, however, surmise your role is fated to continue. Lead your people, and the rest will follow. My meddling with Aerinas’ destiny in planting that note did more for him than I had initially planned. The truest influence of the gods is thus evidenced, for none of us can see all ends."

  "Indeed,” Nimoni agreed. She pulled her hands slowly from Ashinon's grasp and dropped them to her sides.

  The wizard smiled. “Go to your son. Let him know you are safe and strong. Lead your people, for I know you will do well. And be not afraid."

  Nimoni smiled, walked past Ashinon, and headed back down the hall. Slowly, she began to fade, and the clouds in her mind whisked away.

  "Look! She is waking up!” one elf shouted, pointing to Nimoni's stirring form.

  Nimoni's body, after convulsing for so long, was covered in sweat from head to toe, and her nose was bleeding. The healers were doing their best to clean her up, now that the violent convulsions had subsided.

  She opened her eyes, but the bright lights of the hospice room forced her to squint. The members of the Lythardian Council who were there, along with the healers and nurses, leaned in curiously to see if she would speak. After a prolonged period of dead silence, Nimoni uttered something.

  "What did she say?” one asked, all of them mumbling to one another.

  Nimoni licked her lips, and tried again. “Whistle."

  The elves looked at each other, confused. “Whistle?” some of them repeated. A few of them even put their lips together and tried to whistle for her.

  "No, you silly elves,” Iladian snapped. “Stop your silly whistling.” Iladian pointed to Nimoni's right hand. Nimoni was rubbing her fingers together. “She wants something—a whistle.” Iladian leaned close to Nimoni's face and whispered softly to her. “What do you want, dear? Tell me where it is, and I will fetch it for you."

  Nimoni mouthed something inaudible. Iladian nodded her head and ran out of the room. She returned a short time later with something clasped in her right hand, which she placed into Nimoni's open palm.

  "Ah, a whistle is what she wanted,” Arath, one of the Councilors, said.

  Iladian cast him an angry glance, which swept the sarcastic smile off the elf ‘s face.

  The others watched closely as Nimoni brought the whistle up to her lips. She used all of the physical strength she had to blow lightly into the ivory device. Nothing sounded, but Nimoni seemed content. She held the whistle tightly in her grasp and began to smile. Tears formed in her eyes.

  She had found her son.

  The glow from the fires reached high into the night sky. Turza was pleased, for he knew his lord would be highly satisfied with the success of the campaign thus far. Word had reached the unsuspecting ears of the other races dwelling in Vaaluna, but the Drothghights were marching faster.

  Bands of roving direwolves, though keeping their distance, had joined the ranks of the ravaging Drothghights, who had more in common with the four-legged canines than even the direwolves realized. In fact, though the direwolf in the Drothghight was lessened by mixing with human blood, all of the strengths of the direwolves were shaped into each, while the weaknesses were overcome. Drothghights could communicate to both human and direwolf alike, creating a dynamic hierarchy of power to elevate the Drothghight above both lesser races.

  Even more menacing were the droves of Cray—the insectoid creatures who had nearly killed the elves in the catacombs of Gudred—who joined the army of Drothghights. Their speed and agility were no match for any other land-based creature, even the Droths themselves. What they lacked in intelligence they made up for in ferocity. “We'll keep them,” Haarath said after the apparent leader of the Cray offered a crude truce with the Droth might. “They may come in handy. They can scale mountain walls as though they were on level ground."

  Turza stood on a raised mound of earth between the plains of Fornidain and the Forest of Mernith, gaining him a vantage point to view the surrounding area. The army of Drothghights had no need to make camp; they were bred for the purpose of war, and nothing, not even sleep, would stand in their way. Because of their restlessness, the land looked like a sea of billowing black waves, with direwolves and Cray skittering about at the fringes.

  "I can smell elf blood,” said Ockno, one of Turza's lieutenants. He sniffed the air with his enlarged nostrils.

  Turza nodded coldly, eyeing the army of the savage Droths. While the beasts marched past their leader, he could feel them looking at him, each one taking a moment to cast a glance. Few of them had seen him in his armor, but all of them had seen him at their birth. Haarath knew that the bond formed between Turza and his followers would be greatly strengthened if Turza were present for each creation. It had been a long process, but the benefit on the battlefield far outweighed the cost of time. No other creature could match the Drothghight for strength, bloodlust, and, most importantly, wit.

  Haarath had wrought each with intelligence, but he saved the prime Intelligents for Turza and his lieutenants. Control was maintained in battle with those Turza trusted. The sorcerer could see it at work early on. The way the others followed the orders of their leaders was incredible. Though savagery ruled their deepest desires, no orders were disobeyed—not yet, anyway. Haarath was with them to ensure perfect obedience. He never left Turza's side, but he let the Droth rule the way he wanted; the wizard knew he had the perfect creation.

  After the bulk of the army had gathered at the border to the Forest of Mernith, Turza leapt down from the mound. A path formed; the Drothghights parted for their leader. When Turza marched past one, he grabbed the torch from its hand and walked to the forefront.

  Turza, standing at the head of the massive and deadly army of abominations, raised the torch into the air and roared a most hideous roar. The others joined in, and it sounded like the approach of a thunderous storm. Then, Turza turned to face the throng.

  "Burn it all as you pass!” he shouted, saliva dripping from his fangs and hatred boiling in his eyes. “Leave nothing standing in our wake!"

  Haarath gleefully smiled beneath his cowl. He could feel the power rising in him, and he awaited the consummation of his destiny.

  Jjyn Cormulan looked Sebon over and over again, pacing in circles around him with his hands drawn behind his back. Long weeks of preparation, far too short a time to allow for error in the training, had been invested in working the former Skraag. The dark magic of the Kelornians accelerated the process, but it was still too early to tell if all of the influences had worked the way they should have. Regardless of the doubt, Jjyn was very impressed with the labor of his priests.

  The Kelornian Lord rubbed his bony dark hands together eagerly. “Are you ready to do your duty for the Kelornian cause?"

  Sebon, his countenance darker than it had been before the transformation, nodded slowly, coolly.

  "And are you ready to lead the Dark Knights to Dunandor?"

  Again the silent Skraag-turned-warrior nodded, this time with a smug smile crossing his f
ace. A distinct scar ran straight up and down over his left eye, black and deep.

  "You bear the mark of one who has been through the Influence. It must be a great relief to know you have shed the skin of your former life, a life most likely wasted. Now you are a Dark Knight, an Elite member of the Kelornian OverWorld, the City above the Plate."

  Sebon's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, and his muscles tightened like loaded springs.

  Jjyn wore a sly smile. “Anger still festers in your heart, but anger of a different kind. You recognize your hatred of me for what it is—necessary. Hatred will be the fuel you need for this war, and you will be victorious because you hate."

  Jjyn stopped in front of Sebon and matched his stare. For a few brief moments, their eyes locked in silent combat, throwing threads of fiery odium back and forth. Jjyn, the more experienced and cunning of the pair, was confident his magic would keep Sebon from murdering him right then and there, but he couldn't take the chance. He dropped his gaze and shrugged.

  "Your hatred of me is of little consequence.” The Dark Elf-Lord resumed his pacing. “You will lead my army of knights out from Kelorn and to the northeast, following the border between our land and Merchindale. Staying such a course will keep you from running headlong into the Drothghight army Haarath sends through the other realms. My guess is he will order them to burn everything in their wake."

  "How do you know all of this?” Sebon rasped, his chiseled face tightening and oiled hair bristling.

  Jjyn glanced through the slightly open door at his private chambers across the hall. “I have gifts beyond your comprehension, Sebon. I did not become lord of this iron refuge by witless bribery or shameless displays of brute force. Trust and accept my assessment."

  Sebon furrowed his brow, but remained quiet.

  "There is something else I want you to know—something about your new abilities,” Jjyn said. “My priests have granted you a gift assuring you an extra advantage on the battlefield."

  Jjyn suddenly turned on Sebon, a dagger in hand. He lashed out so quickly that Sebon hadn't the reflexes to mount a defense against the device of the Dark Elf-Lord. The dagger slashed down onto Sebon's shoulder, but when the tip of the blade began to pierce flesh, something happened: the skin nearest the impact point changed to a gleaming silver color, solid, like the metal produced under the Plate. The reaction was faster than Sebon's own flinch. The dagger tip clanked loudly against his shoulder, which bent it into a useless position.

  Then, as fast as the hidden armor had appeared at the strike, it was gone. Jjyn lunged again at Sebon, but the armor had already formed in the same spot again in response, preempting another attempt to lacerate the same a rea. In fact, not only had the organic armor plating covered the spot previously hit, it covered a greater area around the shoulder.

  Sebon, still stunned by the action, regained his composure quickly. Strangely, he didn't feel like retaliating, but couldn't figure out why. He felt calm, in control, safe—the magic of Jjyn worked well against a creature of his own making.

  "It is your new armor, Sebon,” Jjyn informed him. “Nothing like this has ever been attempted by my alchemists, and they never thought they would achieve such success. I was patient enough to let them perfect their science. The wait was long and your arrival overdue, but the reward for my virtue has paid me back a hundredfold."

  "What did you do to me?” Sebon asked, holding his arms in front of him and eyeing them curiously.

  "Just a little bioengineering on your body. The alchemists infused the essence of the precious ore the Skraag mine below the Plate into your body using the dark magic of the priests. They tell me they have never had so much fun experimenting."

  Sebon nearly lost control right then. Jjyn felt the immense resistance of Sebon's will to his magical influence when he spoke the last sentence. The Dark Elf-Lord reminded himself that Sebon held no love for him.

  "But they tell me their results have been nothing short of intriguing,” he added, attempting to ease Sebon's rage.

  "Just tell me what you want me to do and be done with me,” Sebon growled.

  Jjyn threw up his hands. “You have a point. Let us be on with it.” The lord walked over to a chest on the floor of his hall chamber, near his sitting area, opened it, and produced a tightly wound scroll. He unrolled the parchment, revealing a map. He laid it on a marble table, and motioned for Sebon to join him.

  "Here,” Jjyn said pointedly. “Take the army this way. Your goal is to get to Dunandor in no more than three days’ march. You will travel only by night, and detection will not be tolerated. I am to hear no report of your whereabouts. For I know Senantor pirates are heading east across the Arthean Sea, and Aeligon and his elves might soon follow. You are to secure the southern region of Dunandor and cut off the Unodin Pass to anyone who would attempt to enter."

  "And what of the Drothghight?” Sebon asked.

  "You are not to quarrel with them in any way. Wait until Haarath gets there, then give him this.” Jjyn handed him a smaller scroll. Sebon looked at him curiously. “It is the location of the underground city of Trunith, the resting place of the final Elfstone fragment. Haarath paid us heavily for this information and for my allegiance."

  "We are acting as mercenaries in this whole thing?” Sebon asked with a queer look on his face.

  "You question my decision?” Jjyn snorted.

  "No. Just clearing it up so there is no mistaking my mission,” Sebon answered, backing down.

  "When you return, you will be rewarded with the finest estates in all of the OverWorld above the Plate."

  Sebon gazed at the map again in silence, brooding over the massive scale of the events set in motion. He decided to cooperate in the inevitable game being played because he simply didn't care. His role was to do as Jjyn Cormulan ordered, and he planned to do exactly that. He gave Jjyn one more hard look, then grabbed the map and headed toward the door.

  "Remember, do not quarrel with the Drothghight,” Jjyn warned. “They will do worse to you if you win the argument."

  Sebon never turned to regard the Elf-Lord. Jjyn Cormulan might have been his creator and employer, but he was not his lord—that role ended when he accepted money in exchange for his knights’ lives.

  Once Sebon had left his chambers, Jjyn's pride granted him another sardonic smile. The misplaced hatred in Sebon for Jjyn was exactly what the Kelornian lord intended; Sebon would never figure out what had happened to him, not without the help of a skilled and patient wizard with the ability to withstand what presently polluted Sebon's soul. Reversal was next to impossible, mostly because no one would be able to get close to Sebon without being slaughtered. As long as Sebon wasn't captured or killed prior to accomplishing his mission, his role would play into the hands of Jjyn and his father. Jjyn had no intention of squabbling with Haarath over the Elfstone; he just wanted his share of the spoils of war. He was a mercenary at heart, a ruthless dictator whose sole purpose was to secure the future for his people and for Kelorn. Only then would his legacy live on and the work continue below the Plate.

  Science was the ultimate religion of the dark elves, progress and invention the methods by which they would succeed their Kraynish kin in the north. Haarath's war would ensure that Mynandrias would fall to the hands of his wretched creations, but the Kelornians would survive the onslaught from the refuge of their iron city.

  Jjyn's eyes glowed bright with anticipation. Slowly, he removed his robes, oiled his hair, and lit the coals at the shrine.

  He needed to speak with his father. Jy'Shandan would be pleased.

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  Chapter 14—The Bleeding

  Aeligon, Aerinas and party departed Drameda before the sun came up over the eastern edge of the Farrin Mountains, toward which they were headed. It seemed to the elves that they were always in the giants’ mountains, which dominated the entire landscape, separating Caran in the west from Salanthanon in the east, and Salanthanon from Fornidain to the south. Every r
egion was only accessible through those mountain passes, and traveling them wasn't easy. Now, they were embarking on a new leg of their quest, entering unknown territory, at least according to the written charts of the races. Nothing had ever been chronicled about this Lion's Mouth, and apprehension of going there had every member of the party on edge, even the wise Aeligon.

  Aerinas kept to himself after they exited Drameda. He was glad to be out of there, especially with the unknown figure they'd encountered. The anxious elf noticed Aeligon kept Menishka'dun by his side at all times, with one hand on his shoulder. The wizard said it was to help him walk, but Aerinas knew better—their cunning adversary would try to snatch the Lyymhorn if he got the chance.

  The visit from Ashinon the previous night had shaken Aerinas more than he'd ever been before. Not even Tristandor could get him so unnerved. But the visit had awoken Aerinas’ thirst for answers to unsettling questions. Maybe it was the weight of the responsibility given to him, Ashinon's confirmation of Aerinas’ magical abilities as the most unnatural evidenced in centuries. I did not want this, he reminded himself, but voices were there to challenge his rebellion.

  The greatest fear is the fear of the unknown.

  What you want is to find yourself.

  The world is in great peril; will you do nothing when you know you can do much?

  The more he listened, the more Aerinas became aware that he did not stand alone. He looked over to Foran, his brother in arms. He looked back at Ithyllna, who had been regarding him, but she quickly turned away. Aerinas knew she was vexed with him for his attitude. Am I too blind to see that she loves me? The truth in the thought was almost too much for him to bear. Yes, it was true, was it not? He asked himself again, Am I too blind to see that she loves me? He knew the answer, but the hardest questions remained: Do I love her in return? What will the implications be if I do? Will it put us in danger if I let first love distract me? Will it put me in danger if I let it die?